


Growing Up Is Mostly Lying

by graywrites



Category: Victorious
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Light Angst, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywrites/pseuds/graywrites
Summary: Tori can’t really say that none of this is her fault, but how can she say no when she’s falling in love in janitor’s closets? Even so, she’s seen Friends With Benefits, she knows how this works- and hell, her and Jade aren’t even friends, right?





	Growing Up Is Mostly Lying

**Author's Note:**

> um this is dedicated to my bitch jodi also tell me why i made this dramatic ass gay shit SO long

 

So, fine, you know as well as anyone that any seed of a plan that starts with smirks and disembodied word-of-mouth somewhere between the fire drill and fifth period never ends the way anyone really wants it to end, and usually instead ends with dizzy drunk kids wandering home alone, even though they came in a group, or otherwise somewhere they don’t recognize, cursing out their exes in between sloppy apologies and a dull beg for repentance for no reason other than being bored and tired and sort of alone. Maybe you’re naïve, though, because you bear no fears by the time you agree that it sounds like a wonderful waste of time to show up to some upperclassman’s home that André claims to know well enough.

 

It is André’s idea first, too, to go to this ‘not-party.’ He promises it’s not that big, just a few friends of friends to join your band of merry misfits. He calls it a ‘kiackback.’ (It sounds cooler than ‘gathering.’) You? Well, you just call it a nice excuse not to spend Friday night home alone with your older sister.

 

And Lord knows André means well, he always does, and you can tell it’s only really to try and keep Jade’s head on straight, currently reeling in the aftermath of another blowout breakup fight with Beck, because, God, when is she _not_? But, you’re not friends, so you suppose that that’s none of your business, and instead just accept his offer along with everyone else. When Beck decides to come, too, you wonder if maybe that kind of defeats the purpose of Jade going entirely, but she doesn’t waver from her strong inclination to find any kind of outlet for the ever-spinning rage that you’re sure is swallowing her whole or something, and you hope André was kidding about there being alcohol there.  

 

You kind of underestimated how awkward it would be to be in Robbie’s mom’s mini-van, accompanied by the high-school equivalents of bitter divorcees, and you’re pretty sure it’s even worse seeing as you’re shoved in next to Jade, trying to keep your hands to yourself in seats that obviously weren’t meant for passengers over the age of twelve. If your house weren’t so damn far, maybe you could’ve been luckier like Cat, even snagged one of the singular seats in the second row. Wishful thinking, you know, but with a cross-armed Jade to your right, and an aloof Beck to your left, it takes everything in you not to curse out Robbie for insisting Rex gets his own seat, and the damn _passenger_ seat, no less!

 

You can feel the tension coming from Jade, and you find yourself wondering what exactly the breakup had been about- you thought maybe you’d heard someone say something about Beck cheating, but isn’t that always what Jade thought, anyways?

 

Not that it matters. Not that much. Not if the ride would go along any faster. André tries to keep things lighthearted with intermittent chatter and chuckles that fall flat half way through, but it doesn’t entirely work. Cat chimes on obliviously, and you begin to wonder if this was a mistake, but then, like a silent notion of perseverance, your sister comes to you, merely a mirage, dancing around half clothed in your kitchen, singing off key, and you find it in you to suck it up and carry on each time.

 

The ride is all of twenty minutes, but it feels like longer. Entering the house feels like some great accomplishment, and you weren’t even the one driving (not that you know how). André wasn’t lying about it not being a party, though, and it leaves you a little surprised. Now that you’re there, there are maybe fifteen or twenty kids scattered around the house as lo-fi music buzzes in the background. There’s alcohol, too, and you grimace but take a cup just like everyone else.

 

Mostly kids are holding red cups and leaning in impractical ways against various objects throughout the place, which is all you really gather as André’s friend quickly shows you around. Mostly, people are off in their own small groups, or scrolling through their phones. It’s surprisingly calm, and though you can’t quite tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, you are fully aware that, had there been no alcohol, this would have qualified as “sucking,” and no one would stay around for long.

 

A few of André’s friends stick around your group, though, and you take claim of the low-lit den, too far away from the speakers to hear anything but a dull riff and static. Everyone has a cup, but Jade is knocking hers back quicker than anyone, steady dangerous smile lingering on her lips between each sip while everyone else makes conversation. Regardless, you can’t quite take your eyes off her.

 

Somewhere between ten and ninety minutes later, everything is a little bit warmer, and you find yourself in a circle on the floor surrounded by your loose interpretation of friends while André’s buddy explains the concept of a game that might be stupid, and is almost definitely made by and for middle schoolers, but you couldn’t care less, because for a moment, it sounds kind of fun, and that’s what matters, right?

 

It begins to sound considerably less fun as the instructions begin to actually sink in, and you remember to take stock of who and where you are, exactly, but everyone has already sort of agreed, and you’re a little behind, so you just nod your head dumbly and curse yourself inside.

 

The game is named “Slap or Kiss,” simply enough, and it’s basically the sadist’s version of Spin the Bottle. Someone spins something, anything, and whoever it lands on they either have to slap, or kiss. They get to decide. Pretty self-explanatory, and seemingly harmless, except you have to play with the devil’s Odd Couple, so there’s really no way any outcome could be anywhere decent.

 

You hope that it can’t matter that much, though, and take another sip as a circle tightens up and in vicious motion the most dangerous game forms around you, and you figure that the only worse pain that getting hit is something romantic in a room full of drunk kids, so you leave you fingers crossed inside your sleeve and try and relax.

 

As the world spins in motion around you, your mouth stays shut for a change, and nothing to dramatic happens until Beck lands one of André’s friends who is dangerously female, and she’s the only one beside Beck with her eyes off Jade as he kisses her, and you feel yourself wince. Her eyes flare and you try and tell yourself that you don’t actually notice, anyways, and then the turn is over and she’s taking another drink, and then André’s friend rolls him, and you catch them exchanging a polite kiss that earns no cheers from the corner of your eye.

 

After that, he rolls Jade, and for a second you remember when he came to you sometime late claiming he had a crush on her, and you laugh to yourself when he declares that he passes, and its Jade’s turn, now. That’s about all it takes to set her off, and she’s challenging him with accusations of thinking she’s ugly, and what, is he afraid?

 

He obviously is, and she can tell, too, so she laughs it off, leaving him backing off, and then she steps up to the plate, and through scattered thoughts you draw out that oh, yeah, this _can’t_ end so well, and you wonder if maybe you should excuse yourself, if maybe something you don’t want to see anyways is going to happen, and is someone going to get hurt? (It’s Jade. So, probably.)

 

But your body is lazy and slow and so you stay put, nursing a bright red cup that splinters in your hands as Jade gives the bottle’s placeholder a spin. It spins for a while on the wood floor and the whole time you’re straining to hear to music playing in the kitchen and chanting _not me not me not me_ along to the beat, and you get so caught up that you almost don’t realize when it points to you because no prayers are answered in some teenager’s house where the music is quiet and the beers are cheap and _damnit_ you could have stayed home, you could have stayed home.

 

Your body responds like only a traitor would because getting a beating is enough to speed up the senses, huh? You’re sure you blanche in front of everyone, there, on the spot. Struggling up, you move in heavy steps to the middle, close enough to face her, and God, you wish she wasn’t taller than you. Fuck. She’s gonna kill you, here, in the middle of some stranger’s house, in front of all of your friends. Yes, this is how you’re going to die, sixteen and a little drunk and entirely fucking stupid, and why didn’t you leave?

 

For a second you recall your earlier days at Hollywood Arts, when you were forced to preform stage fighting. When you faked a hit at Jade, she pretended you hit her for real, and everyone believed it.

 

Maybe- _maybe_ if you’re fast enough, when she goes to hit you, just before she makes contact, you can react, and act like she hit you without her actually following through. Are you stealthy enough for that? Sober enough to pull it off? What if she calls your bluff? Well, it’s not like anyone would _believe_ her, right? Come on, it’s _Jade_. It wouldn’t even make sense, it would just look like she wanted to hit you again, so if you were fast, you could probably get away with it, but are you- _oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, she’s kissing you._

Jade is kissing you. Why is Jade _kissing_ you, she’s kissing you! It’s Jade! Your body goes through system shock, and you feel your lungs constrict and your heart go slack and nothing happens inside of you for a very solid forty-five seconds that you are almost sure is at least ten minutes.

 

Jade West is kissing you. W...why? Why is this happening? Does she… know who you are? And- and why is it still happening? And why would she pass up an opportunity to inflict pain on you? She _hates_ you. And, you hate her! Or, should. Maybe. But that’s... not as easy to say when she’s pressed against you, and her hands are in your hair, and _what the hell is she doing_ starts to lose a battle to _does it matter_ and you hate to say that it’s… sort of fucked-up nice, and she’s being so _deep_ and _passionate_ and _movie-moment_ about it and… it’s _Jade._

And surely, it’s not supposed to go on for this long. Nobody else kissed for this long. Or got this touchy-feely about it. Not that you really have it in you to complain. And when you thought that she was going to get aggressive with you, this wasn’t exactly what you meant, but her hands are on you now, and it’s… better than the alternative, which is really just your roundabout way of avoiding saying that it’s good.

 

Everything is very soft and quiet until she finally pulls away, and you take a deep breath and back away into your seat, eyes firmly on the ground. Everyone is silent, but your own breathing is loud enough in your ears to make up for it. You skip your turn, still staring at the floor, and everyone understands and the game moves on, sort of, but everyone else’s facial expression speak volumes, and you’re pretty sure you’re past any state of clarity or thought, now.

 

On the upside, the beer is starting to taste better.

 

A little more alcohol and tangible tension is all it takes for the game to come to its untimely demise not more than two turns later, and instead you find yourselves strewn about the living room, eyes to the ceiling, unsure if the song has changed at all in the past- however long you’ve been here, which remains undetermined. You can’t tell minutes from hours besides everything feeling slow, and it reminds you of some old greek story from two grades ago that probably had something to do with Odysseus and everything else you had to learn but hated all the while, but all you can gather from your vague memory of the story was that once you go in somewhere, you forget about what needs to be done outside of that moment, and lose any concept of time.

 

If only in a vicious protest to the fate of a Lotus-Eater, you manage into a standing position and force yourself out and up, following the steep staircase up to the roof, trying to convince yourself it’s for fresh air, and not because Jade went up there somewhere between minutes and hours ago.

 

The cold hits you with a bite to it, and you retract into your jacket a little more, pulling the sleeves over your hands. It’s quieter up here, barely any trace of the music left, something closer to a drone of cars underneath, city melody that you mostly ignore, but wouldn’t be able to sleep without.

 

Jade is there, a few yards ahead, leaning against the railing, head cast down. With a deep breath and a shuffle to straighten your posture, you find yourself inching toward her, teeth firmly biting down on your bottom lip. You can tell by the way that Jade tenses up that she senses you three steps in, so you figure that’s basically your big neon sign in the sky that says _no going back, kid,_ and so you head on forward until you’re side by side.

 

She doesn’t bother to look away from whatever is so captivating down below, so you clear your throat and try and sound assertive because really, Jade is mostly harmless, you’ve learned- or at least when it comes to you. She talks big, but mostly, she’s harmless. (It still doesn’t help that you’re on a roof, though. That’s not the kind of thing that provides peace of mind.)

 

“What was that about?” You demand, or would demand, if your voice didn’t threaten to crack as you tried.

 

She lazily draws her head up to look at you. She pauses, just briefly, and then raises her eyebrows just enough to make you balk.  She gives you a slow blink, and you feel yourself wince. Still, you persist: “you kissed me.” You say it like she doesn’t already know it, like somehow, she forgot.

 

A smirk plays on her lips, but her eyebrows stay suspended in motion, stud and all, taunting you. God. She straightens up, coming to a full stand, reminding you that she has a good two inches on you _without_ the crazy boots.

 

“What, you want me to hit you?” She tilts her head, smile solid on her face.

 

“No, I mean- why _didn’t_ you?” You try, shaking your head, trying to form your most sober thoughts.

 

She pauses, then exhales, dropping her arms from her chest. She speaks slow and simple, like you’re stupid. “Beck kissed a girl, so I did, too.” She nods along with the drawled-out words, and you’re kind of offended, even though it’s no real change of pace. She takes another beat, scrutinizes your features, then scoffs. “What? Did you think it _meant_ something?” She laughs, full and loud, then shakes her head, and heads to the stairs before you can defend yourself, leaving you a drunk, sputtering mess on the roof of a stranger’s home, trying to figure out why being part of breakup theatre feels worse than it meaning something in the first place.

 

By the end of the weekend, everything returns to a lazy version of normal, but Friday night lingers in your mind even so. Beck starts dating the girl from the party, even though she doesn’t go to your school, and you’re sure she’s nice, but part of you thinks that’s a little bit shitty, still. You don’t talk to Jade, and everyone else has moved on completely because it definitely didn’t matter at all and beyond being a little weird, it was nothing.

 

Beck brings his new girlfriend to lunch, sometimes, and you can tell Jade is absolutely fuming, but nobody says anything, and you figure nothing much will last, anyways, until she shows up at your house when your parents aren’t home.

 

You’re surprised to see her at the door, but she invites herself in and doesn’t say a word. You open your mouth to ask her she’s kissing you, harsh and angry and not at all the way a kiss should be, but you don’t hate it, and you don’t want it to stop, and you shut down for a minute because she hates you, even if you kissed before, and it doesn’t make any sense, and why is she here, kissing you? _You_ , of all people.

 

You don’t really have the time to think about it as she has her hands on your waist, the small of your back, your hair, and you have to wonder that it’s just you and her in your unlit living room, so who is this for? This can’t be breakup theatre, not now.

 

She leaves when she’s satisfied and you’re left wondering how this all happened, and what this all means, but you try and move past it as you stumble up to bed.

 

Nothing is different at school, and you convince yourself it was a very strange dream that you can never speak of until Beck brings his girlfriend to lunch and then on your way to fifth period Jade drags you into the janitor’s closet and does what she wants until you’re sure you’re at least ten minutes late, and you wonder if you’re going to stay in this suspended silence forever as she walks away and you stay, breathless and alone.

 

You make up your mind as you walk in late to fifth period, because this doesn’t make any sense and you’re convinced that this can’t continue in silence any more. By the time she comes to your door late into the night, you’re almost ready, and as she enters, you stop her, and open your mouth.

 

“Why are you doing this? Beck doesn’t even know, you know that, right?” You challenge, crossing your arms.

 

Her face falters for a moment, but then she scoffs. “I’m not stupid. What, you don’t like it?” She crosses her arms, too, and you think she knows that she asked the worst possible question.

 

“No, I- I mean, why me- when-” you sputter, arms falling to your sides, much less composed than when you planned this in your head.

 

“You talk too much,” she whispers, closing the gap between the two of you, and you know you’re at a loss.

 

After that, you spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to make sense of this most recent development in your life. This is all physical, right? And secret, you guess. What are you? Friends with benefits? You’re not even really friends, are you? Frenemies with benefits?

 

It happens more and more often, and you find yourself almost looking forward to it, if not entirely confused. Still, dealing with it on your own is wearing on your brain, and eventually, you break, and call over André to help you with your woes.

 

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to freak out?” You bite at your lip, and he chuckles slightly.

 

“Sure, I promise.”

 

“And you won’t tell _anyone, ever, at all_?” You say, but it sounds like begging.

 

“’Course not, Tori,” he agrees easily.

 

“And you won’t be all weird and everything?” You persist.

 

“Are you gonna tell me?” He laughs, clearly amused at your disheveled state.

 

“You have to swear!” You insist.

 

“Alright, alright, I swear, okay?” He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender and you swallow hard.

 

“You know how me and Jade kissed at your friend’s party?” You say, furrowing your brows.

 

He raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t a party, but I do recall,” he nods, curious.

 

“Well. Ever since then, we’ve, you know,” you try, arms crossed tightly, looking at the ground, nodding nervously.

 

“I don’t,” he tilts his head at you.

 

“Ever since then we’ve been kind of messing around and I don’t know how or why, she just shows up and it happens and it’s not bad but I don’t _understand,_ ” you rush out, relaxing slightly once the words leave your mouth.

 

He pauses. “You… and _Jade_?”

 

“Yes, me and Jade! That’s what I thought, too!” You exclaim, glad you have someone to vent to.

 

“In private?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Do you… like it?” He asks delicately.

 

“I mean- well- I don’t _hate_ it. It’s not _bad_. But it’s… happening,” you struggle.

 

“Do you, you know, like _her_?” He eases into the question, clearly hesitant.

 

“What- I- no! It’s _Jade_ \- I don’t- I wouldn’t-” you stammer, and he leaves it at that.

 

And so that’s how it stays, her in your body from time to time, and it’s been occurring to you for a while now that you’re not certain that this has anything to do with Beck anymore, really, but you don’t really think it has much to do with you, either, and you kind of hate that, because you find yourself thinking that this isn’t how you want it to be, you don’t want to be a nameless body that she allows herself from time to time for physical pleasure and nothing more that always leaves you by yourself, but you can’t really say that you want it to stop, and you wonder if maybe that would be worse, anyways, as her laugh from a rooftop echoes in your mind every now and again when her body is pressed against yours.

 

You wonder, for a while, if maybe you’re at a loss, but you’d still be lying if you said that you didn’t crave it as much as her (if not more).

 

After long enough André has a party for you all to attend, except it’s a party for real, this time. Against your better judgement, you agree, and you find yourself in the familiar position of being in the backseat of Robbie’s mom’s van, except this time you’re in between Cat and Jade, because this time, Beck brought his girlfriend. You can’t stop yourself from studying Jade’s face when you pass under the streetlights, but she seems almost serene. Or, as serene as Jade West can be.

 

The car ride feels remarkably short, and upon entering the party, you’re offered something alcoholic with a scent and taste that can only be compared to nail polish remover. “Liquid courage,” the gawky frat bro who hands it to you claims. You hope he’s right.

 

You can’t tell if it’s worse or better than you expected, just that it’s burning as it goes down, and that you recoil with every sip. Even so, you’re a cup and a half ahead of everyone else, and you’re feeling the effects.

 

The party is big and loud and a moving organism, pulsing along to the beat of each song, all of which sound nearly identical. Everyone is faceless in the moving crowd, and everyone is drunk enough so that if you stop for even a second it’s not fun anymore, just a little bit dizzy and sad, so you guess that’s why Jade grabs at the collar of your shirt and starts kissing you in front of everybody, because there’s no better excuse than being drunk, right?

 

Nobody pays that much mind, because it’s faceless, nameless, everybody’s as drunk as you, but you can feel André staring for a beat in the middle of all of it. You’re drunk enough to feel blissfully free, without confusion or feeling or anything beyond mindless physical hunger in the middle of a very loud and moving everything because it’s that simple, right? It’s that simple?

 

It doesn’t feel as good as it should and it fills up your mind until you find yourself in the back seat, passing under streetlights and the moon, lights from the city blurring in your vision, further gone than you bargained for, head resting on Jade’s chest, and even you wonder if you’re asleep or not.

 

God, you love her, don’t you? _Damnit._

 

By the time the sun is high and you’re in bed nursing one hell of a hangover, you realize that you only have one option: this has got to end. Because obviously you don’t _love_ her, God, it’s _Jade_ ¸ but you’re definitely _confused_ or something, and so, through aspirin and water and thinking you’re dead, you come to the bitter realization that all you can really do now is end it and pretend it never happened.

 

Because, well, you don’t _want_ this, this isn’t who or what you want to be, right? You don’t want to be Jade’s undercover easy lay when nobody’s watching or everybody is too far gone to care, you can’t do that anymore.

 

So why does it hurt just to make the fucking decision?

 

You just try and repeat it in your head like a mantra: _you can’t go on like this, Tori._ Even in your head, it comes out more like a question.

 

The next time it happens- well, you falter. It’s not your fault, alright? You’re not weak, it’s just that it happened at _school_. You can’t not-break-up with her in the janitor’s closet! Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as she presses you against the wall and grabs at your shirt and you hear yourself moan.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

After that, though, you’re determined- especially because your teacher yells at you in front of everyone for being late so often.

 

The next Friday comes along and she shows up at your door at half past one like clockwork, and you’re sure, this time. You know what has to happen. She walks in, but before she can get close, you cross your arms and straighten up, closing yourself off to contact.

 

She raises an eyebrow at you impatiently, prompting whatever big speech you must have, and you pout slightly at the action of it all.

 

“We can’t do this anymore,” you say, steady and sure.

 

“Is it because you’re scared we’re gonna get caught? Because we don’t have to do it at school anymore if you don’t-” she starts.

 

You interrupt her. “No, it’s not that. Well, I mean, a little bit, but- it’s not that,” you correct yourself, trying to proceed forward.

 

“So? What’s the problem?” Jade crosses her arms in waiting.

 

“I- I don’t want to _do_ this anymore,” you try, suddenly at a loss.

 

“What? Don’t you like it?” Jade persists, eyebrows furrowed, looking almost… nervous? Desperate? No, neither of those are things that Jade West is. You’re seeing things, almost definitely.

 

“No, it’s good, I just- I don’t wanna do it anymore, the secret, physical-only, something-with-benefits thing. I don’t like it, that kind of relationship,” you try and clarifying, running your hands through your hair, hoping you’re coming across clear.

 

Jade stops, quiets, sinks a little. Her arms relax a little, and she swallows. You watch her think, for a moment, and then she opens her mouth: “Fine.” No anger behind it, barely any emotion at all. Not in a voice you’ve ever heard her use. Then, she straightens up, and walks out the door, leaving you, for the last time, alone in your darkened living room.

 

If you weren’t there, you’d think that nothing happened the next day. Everything is almost normal, and mostly, the two of you maintain your composure, aside from the total lack of eye contact. Still, to anyone else, that isn’t exactly a huge difference. So both of you stay quiet, and it should be totally fine. In fact, you should feel better!

 

That doesn’t really change the fact that you don’t.

 

You get annoyed with the sense of longing that starts to fill your chest, so you try and drown it out with distractions and chatter, the loudest you’ve been at lunch in months. Now more attentive than ever, it comes to your attention that Beck’s broken up with his girlfriend, and did so weeks ago. Jade still won’t look at him, though. You try not to notice that part, because it doesn’t have anything to do with you, right? (Not that you’ve ever been great at minding your own business.)

 

By the time the day ends, you’re alone, in the dark, and what you’d like to believe is inexplicably disappointed. It’s started to rain, and your parents are out, and somehow, so is Trina- the universe’s personal gift to you, on the day when you need it most- and so you take refuge on the couch in the dim glow of some show that’s a little bit dumb and a couple years old that you half-recognize.

 

And then there’s a knock at the door, and you feel yourself cringe a little. You briefly consider not answering it, but what if it’s someone important? (That’s the improbability you toy with to make yourself feel better.)

 

You wish you were more surprised when you see that it’s Jade, a little bit damp and looking halfway distraught. “Come… in?” You offer, and you know you sound completely unsure, but you don’t know why she’s here, and really, if it weren’t raining, you’d probably leave her standing out there.

 

She steps in and runs a hand through her hair, looking about a second away from pacing. She pauses, then looks down for a moment before drawing her face up to look back at you. She bites her lip, then opens her mouth, as if she’s not really sure how to start. She clears her throat, like one does when they’re about to start a speech. Just as you’re about to ask her why she’s here, she makes noise.

 

“Be my girlfriend, then,” she says, and it sounds hesitant, almost... strangled? You pause for a beat.

 

“…Excuse me?” You genuinely need her to repeat the statement.

 

“ _Be my girlfriend_ ,” she says, more forcefully than before.

 

You pause for a minute, squint at her. “You… you want to _date me_ just because you’re too lazy to go out and find someone else to fuck around with?” You ask incredulously.

 

Her face flickers angry for a second, then she comes back down. “ _No_ , it’s not _like_ that!” She insists, sounding strangely genuine, coming from her. “That’s not what it’s _about_ , I- that’s not why. Okay? God. This is stupid. Forget it, I should just leave,” she scoffs, flushing slightly, face returning to its default of entirely pissed off.

 

“Wait,” you try, “it’s not. Don’t. Don’t leave,” you rub your arm nervously. “That’s… really not what it’s about?” you ask carefully.

 

“ _No_. That’s never what it was about- well, at first, but- that’s not what it’s about,” she sighs deeply, turning back around to face you, looking somewhere between relieved and defeated.

 

“Okay,” you say, sure of yourself, now.

 

“…Okay?” She says quizzically.

 

You nod, taking a step closer to her.

 

One more time, you find yourself kissing her, alone, in your darkened living room; this time, with feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> if u wanna rq some shit or tell me something u can find me @ thejorishore.tumblr.com/ask also!!! LEAVE MY THIRSTY ASS A REVIEW PLEASEE LMAO


End file.
